


As The Air Clears

by MidnightGlamour



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Feelings, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm starting to think this is more of a "&" fic rather than a "/" if you know what I mean, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Oh My God, POV First Person, Rating May Change, Sensitive material in here folks, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Warnings May Change, fuck knows what i'm doing, may switch POVS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightGlamour/pseuds/MidnightGlamour
Summary: Morgan, (full name Morgandey Lawan) keeps running into dead ends. All the while trying to escape her toxic past, she collides with others like her.And like any collision, shit happens.DISCLAIMER: Update, (23rd of February, for those who noticed or have already read the first chapter) iv'e now got the majority of chapters ready for upload, however there have been some hiccups. (I explain it better in chapter 3's starting notes) ...





	1. Chapter 0

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is my first EVER creative writing piece, and I mean from primary school. (Elementary school) Not to mention for a pairing or just general fanfiction. I don’t know when I’ll update, but it would (crosses fingers) be every week. But it depends on my college work.  
> Second thing, I’m British, and on top of that a southerner who lived in a very multicultural area, so some of the terms or slang I might use you may not be familiar with, or not even have a fuckin’ clue what I’m on about. If this is the case, just pop me a message and I’ll clarify. I will probably put like a definition index of sorts at the bottom though.  
> And finally the third thing, just to put it out there I do have Dyslexia, so it might be noticeable throughout my writing. I really would appreciate any constructive feedback; as this is my first ever go. Same goes with any lore to do with the ship, but I will be changing things slightly and obviously there are going to spoilers in this fic.  
> In response to the tags, I will give a warning in each chapter of what exact tags are in that chapter to warn people, as I understand that these subjects can be sensitive to people. Also, in the UK the age of 16 is practically the legal age for everything, and emphasis on the LEGAL part. (With the exception of alcohol, but hence the underage tag)  
> If you’re not into this type of fic, then please don’t read, because I don’t want some knob reading it then giving me a load of wank over it.  
>  Thank you xx enjoy (hopefully)  
> WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK PLEASE.  
> PPS: It’s going to take about two weeks to get the first chapter out, as I need to re-watch some episodes first.

It required 10 characters.


	2. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Morgan is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well would you look at this, first ever chapter out! hope people enjoy xx

 

Imagine the luxury of buying a smooth and rich tea, without an aggravating arsehole standing behind you.

I mean, I don’t know why people complain about this, really. The slightly damp breath just irritating your neck hairs, or the little (and obviously insignificant) touches he does with the heels of your feet with his metal tipped boots.

It’s just lovely.

The menu options aren’t much better, and that’s saying something. Then again, I am in America, the country of fuck-all tea flavour. It’s just softly flavoured water essentially.

Probably should’ve thought of that before buying my ‘smooth and rich’ tea.

 

Pushing my hair behind my ear, I take a closer look at the destruction surrounding me. What was once a thriving city is now reduced to rubble and ash. Dirt now blankets what were the busy and thriving shops, pleasantly warmed by the currently burning cars. Many windows now rest in shards across the street, mixing with the blood of both human and strigoi.

Strigoi. That’s what they’re calling them now.  Creatures that lurk in the dark, silently waiting to feed on their next victim. Basically tax collectors but in ogre form, but you can behead them instead.

The sky is beginning to seep its evening pinks and yellow’s, the sun retreating beyond the horizon. I need to get back to my place soon before the strigoi roam the streets. I spot a lonely SUV across the street, engine running. It’s been some time since I last permanently borrowed someone’s car. Looking around, I spot several ominous alleyways shrouded in black shadow, caused by the ever sinking sun. So, those aren’t an option to use for cover, since I won’t be the only one seeking it. My only chance now is to just make a straight break for it and hope I don’t get shot, stabbed or stung.

I duck down behind parked cars on my side of the street, noticing a returning group of what appears to be a family. Fuck. What the hell do I do now? I can’t-

BANG

I shoot upright as a horde of bloodsuckers swarm towards us, the door which they burst through now somewhat flattened on the ground. Now’s my chance. I run for the driver’s side of the car with feet rumbling behind me. Accompanying the snarls is the shouts of the family members, cursing me with the foulest of words. Hoping there’s no one in the back, I wrench the door open, practically throwing myself into the seat. A stinger narrowly misses my hand as I slam the door shut. Deciding by breathing can wait till later, I lock the doors with the override, check the handbrake is off and push down the accelerator.

The depressed buildings of New York stream past me as I drive home, looming over me in my car. The intimidating feel of New York sometimes reminds me of my proper home, especially now that half the city is in ruins. Night has fallen completely now, as my headlights illuminate various dead bodies in the road. I’ve come a long way since my days in the derelict parts of south-east London, but some things still stay the same.

****

****

**_South East London, December 2007_ **

_The streets are warmer tonight. The soft glow of the lamp lights spotlight the ring in which I am to fight in. Not for free of course, for couple a hundred quid’s. My opponent strides in first, all proper like._

_Arrogant git._

_If it wasn’t for other such addictions, I wouldn’t be doing this. But being sponsored in a private ring also means the potential for more money. And respect._

_I step within the threshold and size the man up. Smothered in a large coat, the tall lad towers above me in height and can easily overpower me. However, my young age means I am swifter and spryer than him. It’s been a long time since an even match._

_Catching the nod of the referee, I move first. I sweep my legs underneath his, hoping to knock his balance off. Unfortunately for me, he was anticipated my move, and caught my jaw with a sharp upper hook. The blow knocked me to my knees, but the power is now in my hands as I’m level with a very sensitive organ. Lucky me._

_\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_**Present Day** _

WHACK.

I slam on the breaks as I tear out of my daydream. The sound resonated throughout the neighbourhood, no doubt alerting some hungry strigoi. Fantastic. Run over a bin again. I’m somehow home too, against all odds. I guess I was just too zoned out after the fiasco to notice the journey.

Well, when I say home, I mean my godparent’s house. But seeing as they’re dead I decided to claim it as my own. Heaving a sigh, I grab my torch and shoddy 9 mm glock and head out the car. I dig the keys out of my trouser pocket as I amble up the walkway to the front door. I need to work on my security, someday. A locked door isn’t going to deter people now that times are dire.

Passing through the door and locking it, I finally hits home how shaken up I am. Another pill to add to the list tonight, then. Shining my torch through various doorways, I silently check out the downstairs rooms before moving upstairs, as one can never be too careful. Dumping my shit in the hall, I collapse into my bed. Well, what I call a bed. Other people’s definitions might stretch to ‘pit’ or ‘a rotting pile of blankets’. Which reminds me, I need to go out to find better (and cleaner) ones.  Reaching over to swap my torchlight with a nightlight, I remember how disgustingly dirty I am. Heaving yet another sigh, I order my bones to get up and stumble into the bathroom. Pulling down the light switch heavier than I need to, I stare into my reflection.

A relatively young woman, with auburn hair and hazel eyes stares back at me. My eyes, eventually focusing tune in on the dark patches all over my face. Bruises, yet to heal over from the gun store robbery that I took part in months ago still litter my face.

Looking away, I scour my surfaces for the small tin which I wasted most of my life on protecting. In it, various A-class drugs I bought over the past few weeks. I sometimes wonder if my family can see me do wrong, but then I remind myself that I wouldn’t care either way. Taking several Tramadol's and swallowing them, I eventually get to the shower to turn it on. With the hot steam now filling the bulk of the room, I strip off my clothes which can probably count as being a second skin, by now.

_The pale devil_ my sponsors used to call me, for my sharp sarcasm and my blank skin as I gazed at myself in the mirror. My many tattoos are scattered around my body, assorted with various scars. My hand lifts to trace one going across my shoulder, up to my neck. _Fight harder, bitch._ I jerk at the memory, suddenly coming back to myself. I need to get back in control.

Purposefully striding all of two steps into the shower, I let my thoughts be washed away with the water.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ogre also means monster, apparently. Here are the definitions of some terms used:  
> "Quids" = Pounds. Generally a slang term. (where i'm from, we called them squids too)  
> "lad" = young bloke  
> "bloke" = man, but for informal conversations.  
> "torch" = flashlight, only provides more of a floodlight effect
> 
> I hope this chapter isn't too short, i was planning it longer but it just seemed to end nicely there. Also, i might try to insert pictures to help with picturing things or just showing what something looks like for reference, so i might do that for the next chapter.  
> feedback is appreciated in the comments :)


	3. Heavy rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning in the day of Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been awhile! chapters will now be uploaded on a schedule, and iv'e written a fair *few* in advance :) the only issue is that i had written something to do with the story that was incorrect, and now that mistake carries on throughout the many chapters i have written. This basically means for readers is that I am going back through the chapters and saving what i can, then re-writing them. such a small and silly thing to do, and now all this. Hence why i am uploading bit by bit now unlike in one go. but anyhow, I hope you enjoy the short update ;-)

 

* * *

My eyelids are lead as I blink the sunlight out of them. Finally regaining my vision, I take in the barren room around me. The walls were stripped of their paint weeks ago, leaving only a blank canvas. My threadbare blanket slips off my shoulder as I drag my body into an upright position, giving the little tin an evil eye from across the room as I do.

Sighing, I swing my legs off of the mattress, bracing myself against the sharpness of the cold dominating the room. Looking down, I see the goose bumps erupting across my arms and legs. Reaching out with my hand, I pull the closest item of clothing towards me. It would do no good if I were to just waltz outside in nothing but my underwear.

_Not as though there’s any public left to notice, mind you._

Pulling the last of my outfit on and strapping my boots up, I ensure all my various knives and firearms are in their respective places and loaded, strapping my main firearm to my lower hip. Finding a moment, I practically crumple back into my mattress to mull over the day. But first, a joint is in order.

Going with my decision, I practically drag myself across the floor to get to my destination. Pale yellow sunlight streams through my cracked window, blinding me. It’s been quite a while since a morning like this. Hope it stays, although, knowing my fantastic luck it won’t. Never the less, I need to be ready to leave. I know for a fact that I’m low on supplies, and I can’t leave the issue any longer.

Grabbing the tin, I stagger into what can barely be called a standing position. Flipping the lid open and fishing through its contents I review my plan for the day.

First the supplies, as I know I’m running low on ammunition and food. Water isn’t really that much of an issue, since I seem to have a lifetime supply of Volvic water for some reason. Second, obtain another car, or just something that doesn’t include using my legs too much. Any fuel left in my recent one must be nearly gone after last night’s drama.

_Just another day, I suppose_.

Eventually sitting down, I grab a paper from the tin and start pinching and placing small amounts (in my opinion) of my weed stash in the paper. Licking the side, (immensely happy I didn’t lick the contents this time) I seal the joint. I make my way to where I dumped my shit the previous day; planning to put couple of extras into a separate tin I take with me. Riffling deeper through my rucksack, I eventually finding the small pocket where I hide the tin. Placing them safely inside, I sit back on my haunches and push my hair back behind my shoulders.

* * *

 

Soundtrack: City and the Stars – Re-imagined – by Neil Cowley Trio

* * *

 

The echo of my hips clicking as I stand up reminds me that _yes; I need to exercise more often._ But then, what’s the point? I may not survive until next week, let alone tomorrow. These foreign thoughts often trouble me. The uncertainty of survival is one of my biggest concerns, as I am not part of any gang or group like many survivors of this crisis are.

 Feeling down my hip, I breathe with a renewed calm when my hand brushes the top my firearm. Upon feeling its solidity, my mind steadies into a more positive string of thoughts.

_Supplies_. I’ve wasted enough time this morning bumming about. The day isn’t getting any longer, and the strigoi aren’t going to wait in the shadows forever. Picking up my rucksack and hitching it over my shoulder, I turn and make my way down the stairs to my front door, minding the bared nails and screws lifting up through the naked floorboards.

The sound of jingling bounces off of the walls throughout the empty rooms of the house as I pry them out of my pocket to ready to both unlock and lock the door.

Once outside with what is left of my house locked up and safe behind me, I wander to the car on the front drive, stepping over the small dandelions and daisy’s as I do. Life, even in small pockets such as these, is precious to me these days in a way that it wasn’t before. Glancing back at my house and its neighbouring structures, I take in the vines slowly but surely creeping up the outside of the houses; and the branches of the surrounding trees approaching the window, eager to see inside now there is no evil gardener to cut them back.

_As the human population becomes ever less, nature resorts to what it once was: full and colourful, with natural beauty in its wild growth rather than being confined to humanity’s standards for looking neat and confined._

Spirits strangely lifted, I pull the car’s door open and climb inside. I glance up in time to see the ash-grey clouds sweeping over the sun, bringing in a sort of dimmed light, but not enough as to cause any issues later when the sun drops in the evening.

Sighing deeply, (something that is now a regular occurrence) I switch on the ignition and fire up the car. An orange light alerts me to the fact that I’m low on fuel. Great. And it’s not as though there’s any chance of getting fuel either, as most of the fuel has been taken already and with no one filling up the pumps there’s none available whatsoever. Might as well ditch the car in town; see if anyone in a less lucky situation can use the materials from the car.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upload schedule will be once every 10 or so days, due to college work and other internet/broadband related issues. Appreciate any criticism and constructive feedback. Would like to thank RaindeerGames for being my loyal (and patient) Beta x


	4. Old Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renaissance car journey's and old memories come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the wait, and no explanation to why i didn't upload. Long story short, I had exams to deal with and other issues that came up, so by the time i sat down to look at my writing i had no motivation to finish a single chapter or even to fix some mistakes that i said i would. Buuuuut, here we go, another chapter :)   
> [as a side note, there's some description in here that might be sensitive to people with anxiety or any issues regarding feelings of fear, so i will mark the section with "^" if you want to skip it out]

**Song to this next part: Strong by London Grammar.**

* * *

 

Pat, pat pat, pat pat pat.

I glance up from the dash to see the first droplets of rain sound on the windscreen, the smaller ones eventually trickling down to form bigger, heavier ones which then pave streets down the window and pool at the bottom.

When I was a kid, I used to love car journeys, even the longer ones. Seeing the colours of the landscape stream past the window at speed, or see the odd bird of prey fly alongside the car. My mother used to say that I was watching the world go by as if it were on television, memorising every conceivable detail. Bit different now though. Ever present grey and musky cityscapes, where faces ashen and hidden commute to steal or buy supplies at its centre. Hardly a landscape you want to remember.

The heater starts to kicks in and starts to steam up the windscreen and side windows. Switching the AC down to practically freezing, I hope that the steam clears quickly.

What fuels left will last me to the city centre, but no further or the trip back. Combing my hand roughly through my hair I realise that I’m going to have to ‘borrow’ someone else’s to even have a chance at getting home.

_Ugh, this is going to be a long fuckin’ day._

Inhaling deeply, I catch the scent of salt, fresh and heavy in the air as it blooms through the AC in the car. Looking up through the windscreen, I see grey clouds descending, taking notice of their deep colour and formation. Just typical that it would rain today. _Just typical._

Time ticks past as I leave behind my only form of structural safety, flowing through the suburbia akin to water past grey pebbles. It took longer than I expected, but I arrive at my destination; the concrete jungle, where the blue sky seemed to be so bright. But now all you see is grey.

Letting out a drawn sigh, _(why am I always sighing?)_ I reach for the worn handle on the car door and push it open in a single movement, stepping out as I so. Glancing around with my back to the car, I see no immediate danger. The area seems to be deserted entirely. There’s old newspaper strewn about the roads and pavements, mixing with the fragmented glass that has fallen from the windows high above. Draughts of air circulate through the streets and alleys, whipping up both the newspaper and my hair as it does so. Stepping slowly and low from the car’s side, I head towards one of the more clandestine back alleys, quickening my pace with each step.

As soon as I reach the entrance of sorts, I flatten myself to the wall. It would do no good to run out of luck now, being out in the open, defenceless.

The air stills.

Something shifts.

I am not safe here.

^^^It is then that I hear that tell-tale sound of death. The source hidden from visible sight, echoing down the very alley I am in. The low clicking murmur, wallowing almost silently from its host. My heart-rate slows nearly to a stop, all my blood draining to my feet and gluing my feet to the ground. Fear crawls its way up my stomach and into my chest cavity.^^^

_I’m paralysed in my own body._

It’s then that I seem them. The strigoi family, barefooted and walking through the glass shards as if they were blades of grass. They’re the same ones from yesterday, or at least the ones whom I left behind while I stole their car. Now watching them more closely, I realise to my horror that there were two children almost that family. Said children now turned into those abominated spider forms, still hopping around their ‘parents ‘as if they still loved them.

What have I done?

* * *

 

**South East London, October 2008**

_The sting distracts me._

_Two needles simultaneously punching in and out of my skin along the line of my pelvis, illustrating my last victory in the ring._

_And now to ceremonialize the premature death of my parents._

_They say it was a motorcycle accident. Car drove through a red light and T-boned them. The officials said they would’ve felt no pain. Yeah right mate, sure. That’s what you always say to us grieving relatives._

_They gave me their weddings rings, which now adorn my hands on their respective fingers. That’s the only thing I will get. Our relationship dwindled in recent years, after they found out about my involvement in certain… extra circular activities. Their compromise for not dobbing me in to the bobbies was to cut off all contact to me, and in turn removing me from their wills._

_I hiss as one of the tattooist’s digs in deeper than necessary, jerking me out of my line of thought. I turn my head to glare pointedly at his rough treatment, but he isn’t looking._

_"Where you up to doves? How much longer do I have to lie here and be prodded at?” I direct at thin air, hoping that they’ll have a positive answer between the both of them._

_One of the guys, bearded and younger, with crease lines decorating the skin around his eyes and pulling at his mouth glances up slowly as if I just asked the stupidest question he has ever heard. “When it’s finished;” he started in a gruff tongue, “is not up to me”._

_No, that’s right; it’s up to my ‘handler’._

_The two tattoos are vastly different from each other. One is my title translated into Arabic, ‘الشيطان الشاحب ‘ The Pale Devil’ and the other a depiction of the Goddess Tailtiu, who stood for endurance._

 

_I try not to think of the symbolic representational to my ‘extra-circular’ activities._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the story making sense....? (idek)  
> index (ish?)  
> Clandestine:  
> "characterised by, done in, or executed with secrecy or concealment, especially for purposes of subversion or deception; private or surreptitious:  
> 'Their clandestine meetings went undiscovered for two years.'" - "http://www.dictionary.com/browse/clandestine" (better definition than what i would've put)  
> Draught = 'Draft' (British spelling)  
> Bobbies= police/cops (slang term)


End file.
